Waiting for Ross #28

At first it appeared as an inanimate black silhouette, the reflective outline of a lifeless mannequin, folded and chained inside steel bars. As the lighting intensified, however, efforts at movement were obvious. When the compact package struggled to squirm, the exertions showed an unmistakably male form, masculine and athletic, sealed in rubber, and contorted by bondage.

Hogtied and anchored within a small metal cage, the lean muscles of the gymnastic body were encased in skintight latex from head to toe. Imprisoned hands, clenched in fist position, were trapped in padlocked rubber mitts, over which steel cuffs were visible. Sturdy-looking joints were flexed, muscular limbs folded, doubled up on each other. Elbows, wrists, thighs, knees, ankles, arms, and legs appeared to be relentlessly strapped together, lashed down, fastened, manacled, and scrupulously interconnected.

En pointe moccasins of thick, black rubber encased its feet. Cinched together, folded legs, extended feet and strictly pointed toes were tied forward to the top of the head, where a leather head harness stretched over a rubber hood. Links of taught chains from the hogtied body to the bars of the cage connected cuffed ankles, trussed knees, and a metal ring at the front of a wide posture collar. The smooth, continuous surface of the muzzled chin and mouth was interrupted by the protrusion of a tube, extending to a funnel suspended outside the cage.

Inside the cage, under the meticulously applied restraints, the hogtied rubber slave appeared to hump the metal floor, but its efforts achieved little movement. Clenching and relaxing its muscular buttocks, grinding its pelvis into the hard surface, it wrestled energetically against immobility. Fastened together by a short chain between them, head and feet jerked in place, reinforcing the bowed hogtie position and arch of the slave’s back. Sounds of creaking restraints and rubber were audible.

Soon the slave could be heard moaning and swallowing loudly, as a deep voice from off-camera commanded, “Keep drinking pig.” The camera pulled back, expanding the view just enough to show the hairy legs of a man standing near the cage. Thick with girth and heavily veined, the man’s big, semi-erect cock gushed intermittently, generously squirting mouthful portions of piss into the slave’s funnel.

Bouncing and thrusting to work the intricacies of the complex hogtie, bearing down to crush its crotch against the cage floor, the slave erupted in a confusion of noisy gulping and high-pitched grunts. The scene ended as the cum shot faded, the video darkened, and white letters of a caption scrolled across the screen: SEALED, HOGTIED, AND CAGELOCKED FOR 5 HOURS, RUBBERPIG CUMS MULTIPLE TIMES.

As THE END appeared, a spurt of live cum splattered across the computer screen. Finally giving in, Tim’s cock fully erupted, driven by what Tim had just watched on his computer. Another shot of goo hit as Tim, milking his spectacular eruption, pounded compulsively. He felt a rare, sequential orgasm take hold. “Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, fuck, fuck, FUCK!” Tim exploded again, propelling glop upward, onto his chin, as the second climax overtook him.

Hours later in bed, unable to sleep, Tim tried to remember the last time he experienced doubleheader monster climaxes. His mind surveyed the five years that had passed since he had been the caged pig in the video. Bondage-induced multiple ejaculations were not unusual then, especially if Ross kept him locked in chastity in between sessions. Tim tried to recall the exact day of the rubberpig video.

As he searched his memories, Tim’s hands explored his hard, pumped up body; more muscle had accumulated with years of working out. It felt fantastic. He flexed his pectorals, stroked his cock, and tweaked his erect nipples. He pictured himself as a fitness model in a sportswear ad he had done recently and contrasted it with a remembered image of himself during his rubberpig days. He replayed the hogtie video in his mind to summon the sensations. Sealed in at least two or three layers, he wasn’t sure. Tightly hooded, muzzled, and mouth-tubed. A huge butt plug locked underneath. Crammed into a locked cage. The exaggerated, intense hogtie. All-consuming arousal. Unsuppressible erections. Mind-blowing rubber bondage. Body-wrenching orgasms.

In the darkness of his bedroom, flexing naked muscle under the bed sheets, Tim pumped his overstimulated cock, rigid again now. The erection made it easy to re-imagine the straightforward, horniest moments. But Tim knew there was more to it than horniness… much more. The psychology of Ross’s need for control. The long-term aspects of endurance Ross loved to explore. Hours of bondage, imprisonment, isolation. A sense of time passing and erections gone. Trapped body heat and sweat. Cramped muscles. Denial of relief for the simplest needs, like an itchy nose. Body functions controlled by Ross. Plugged orifices. Limbs desperate for movement. Bladder full and aching. Ass corked by a huge rubber invader. Feelings of intense regret. Thinking fuck get me out of this. Everything becoming an ordeal. The new flood of bitter tasting piss, thinking please no, not more, but swallowing it down fast. Thinking fuck let me out now. Eager for release, but left to wait, damn how much longer. Waiting, waiting… waiting for Ross.

“Oh-oh-oh, oh SHIT, fuck.” Tim pinched a nipple with one hand and pummeled his cock with the other. Beating off to memories of waiting for Ross easily provoked another eruption, and he milked it for full impact. Less intense than earlier but still satisfying, the orgasm subsided quickly. Tim relaxed, catching his breath. He lay still, trying to convince himself to get up to wash himself. But he felt lazy, if not sleepy.

Minutes passed as the ejaculate liquefied, becoming more fluid, running down his thigh, mixing into the bed sheets. His mind wondered, thinking about Ross’s move to San Francisco years ago, his invitation for Tim to move there; Tim’s fear of disappearing completely, with no job, family or friends to offset Ross’s control; Tim’s eventual, wrenching choice not to go. A year of therapy (‘there’s more to life than rubber bondage addiction’) had influenced Tim to finally break off all contact with Ross, ending the enduring saga of Ross and Tim. That had been about three years ago.  Soon after, Tim pursued local rubber contacts, even reconnecting with Brad. He hooked up with many hot men, but none approached the magnitude of what he had experienced with Ross. Along the way Tim explored his dominant tendencies too, but nothing seemed to satisfy. A few months later, Tim purged his life of kink, discarding all of his rubber and fetish gear. His compulsive masturbation subsided, and thoughts of Ross faded. A series of vanilla relationships had followed.

Tim’s year or two of kink-free life had been going pretty well until a few weeks ago. Between boyfriends and a little bored, with no therapists or significant others to consult, for fun he started looking for Ross on the internet. Ross was not difficult to find, and Tim’s cock had been hard ever since. Now, once and again, Ross dominated his fantasies and masturbation sessions. It had been Ross who launched Tim’s addiction to rubber, made him appreciate it as a form of bondage. To find him again, Tim joined a few rubber websites. The internet proliferation of gay rubber bondage and blog sites astonished and (sort of reluctantly) excited him. He easily searched out Ross on one of them. Tim was not that surprised to discover that Ross’s profile incorporated old bondage photos and a few perverted videos of Tim as his rubberpig, such as the hogtie episode. Rolling over in bed, Tim envisioned his favorite image from that era. It was vintage Ross, employing glossy black, head to toe encapsulation of Tim’s athletic form, encased in an extra tight rubber sleepsack and strapped securely to a narrow cot. The simple caption read, “bedtime.” Tim wondered how many sleepless nights he had spent sealed up and strapped down, waiting for morning, wondering how much longer.

Tim admitted to himself that he missed it: the encasement and restraint, the suppression of panic, fighting the need to struggle for release, Ross’s passion for control and sadistic satisfaction in keeping Tim bound up in rubber. He shook his head to rid himself of the image of himself as a sleepsacked rubber pig. “No! Things are better now, definitely better,” his inner voice insisted. When he had finally ceased all contact with Ross, he felt liberated from Ross’s narcissistic ego. He had independence and freedom from Ross’s obsessive control. His mind was clear of fixation on Ross. He had total command of himself. No longer bound and stored on weekends, recycling piss (“Why did I ever let that happen?” Tim reminded himself), Tim had more time to devote to friends and hobbies, studying classic cinema, one of his interests, and building muscle, another. His part-time career as a fitness model was fun. And he never wanted to consume piss again, even if it came from Ross.

Tim continued his internal dialogue: “Better to jerk off to a video than be stuck hogtied in a cage and drinking piss.” Still in bed, Tim turned on his back and stared up into the darkness. He deliberately began fantasizing about his latest crush, the hot new personal trainer at his gym, a perfect specimen with a killer smile, but Tim felt too restless to concentrate. Suddenly Tim realized why he wasn’t able to sleep. Out of bed now with lights on, he sat naked at his desk and activated his computer. It took a few minutes to log into the site. He hoped it was not too late to “unsend” the private message. He checked the time; about 4 hours had passed. Tim’s heart pounded. Why had he let his cock guide him? The welcome page loaded on his computer screen. He inhaled sharply, swearing to himself at the adrenaline rush: MESSAGE WAITING. “Fuck!” Tim clicked and the message opened:

To: rbrbot22

From: RubrSadist

Subject: re Hi

Sent: 10/30/09 11:30 PM

Hi, pig. Good to hear from u. ur profile pic looks hot – u becoming a gym bunny? why isn’t ur head shaved? and why aren’t u sealed in rubber? I have a partner now. We’re looking for a 24/7 pig for our dungeon. position is listed under my partner’s profile – GearDom. u still a pig? let me know if u r looking for 24/7. Master R.

Original message:

>Hi, Sir. It’s Tim. Saw your profile and recognized you. How are things?

——————————————–

Tim found the profile for GearDom. At the top of the screen, the primary photo showed buzzcut black hair on a young man’s large head and handsome face shaded by heavy stubble, well developed muscles on a tall, strapping frame, tattooed shoulders and biceps, and beefy pectoral muscles, dark with bristle, partially concealed by a rubber vest. The profile listed age 29, weight 195, height 6’1″, hair black, eyes brown, hairy chest and legs, shaved balls, thick 8 inch cock. Scene interests: total coverage, layering, full black rubber latex, head to toe gear. Like to watch sweaty rubber subs squirming in long term rubber bondage.

Grabbing his cock, Tim continued reading.

Relationship status: Partnered with RubrSadist. Seeking a permanent pig for our rubber bondage dungeon and padded storage cell. Position requires fulltime service in rubber, strict inescapable bondage, and incarceration. Our facility is fully monitored, safe, well equipped & u will be in heavy gear, including rubber encasement, also leather, steel restraints, escape-proof confinement, secure storage. Tight sleepsacks, constricting straitjackets, snug hoods, thick gags, wide posture collars, heavy steel collars, locked cages, cells, prison, chains, shackles, long dildos, fat butt plugs, chastity belts, handcuffs, humiliation, endurance, predicament & stress bondage, imprisonment, leg irons, manacles, metal bondage, no escape, no release, total control, shaved, piss, sweat, punishments, spanking, forced workouts, whipping, TT/CBT.  Oh, and did we mention bondage? We want sincere applicants only, age 25 to 35, must be in excellent shape, lean but well muscled, height < 6′ preferred, no family or work commitments. Have plenty of visiting subs but want fulltime pig that is a seasoned, resilient, obedient slave with past experience in heavy bondage, leather, rubber, plugs, gags, S/M, control, restrictions, long term confinement, and lots of bondage. Send message to apply for trial abduction, one week minimum.

Tim’s cock had risen up, painfully erect and pulsating between his legs. He let it go, returned to Ross’s message, and quickly typed in a response.

Sir, yes i am looking to be 24/7 pig

Tim clicked SEND, logged off, and jumped into bed. He enclosed his excruciating erection in his right fist, pumping until it gave up a searing ejaculation. Gasping for breath, Tim let go of his cock and punched his pillow. “Holy shit,” Tim said aloud. “Why is my cock so fucking greedy?” As he recovered from the orgasm, Tim thought, “I should get up again and delete my reply before he reads it.” Instead, finally enveloped by post-orgasmic fatigue, Tim turned on his side and relaxed his head into a pillow. Within minutes, he conked out, slipping into a deep sleep.

Waiting for Ross #27

Focusing instead on the sensations of his pulsating cock, Tim ignored the other parts of his body that were stiff and sore – mostly his neck, but also his right shoulder and arm, buttocks, thighs, and asshole. Three days of jerking off 5-10 times every 24 hours had taken a toll on Tim’s masturbation muscles!

Seated at his desk, Tim pushed forward in the chair. It was just past 8:30 PM. He had been home for 15 minutes. Mail unread, laundry everywhere, dishes in the kitchen sink: Tim was oblivious to the waiting chores in his apartment as he sat in front of his computer. Today, jerking off in a stall of the restroom at work, he had cum only twice since leaving his apartment this morning, and the resulting horniness was building up, especially now that he was finally home, all alone with his hard dick. Dropping it for a moment, Tim paused to roll his head from side to side as he massaged his neck. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his hand against the stubble over his scalp. His cock throbbed at the reminder of his shaved head.

Riveted to his computer for the third night in a row, Tim was no longer mesmerized by the array of images depicting his recent rubber imprisonment in Ross’s dungeon. Yes, the photos of the rubberized victim, always severely bound and encased head to toe, still produced unending hard-ons. And no, he hadn’t lost interest in studying every detail, at which he marveled when contemplating the fetishism that addicted him to Ross. In fact, earlier tonight, anxious to get home to browse the galleries for the 100th time, he had rushed through his after-work visit to the gym and subsequent dinner with his parents. A similar state of affairs had also occurred the night before, when he had hit the gym in an exercise fury and then shortened his dinner with Brad, who had annoyed Tim with teasing remarks about his ‘hot new do’ and questions about Ross.

“Fuck,” Tim said aloud. Tim struggled to clear his mind of memories of Brad’s probing comments and the look on his mother’s face as she tried not to stare at his baldness. And, he did not want to think about how difficult it had been this week to concentrate on his responsibilities at work. The 7-day absence, followed by showing up with a shaved head, had elicited unwanted notice by his coworkers, and his boss Judy had been very quiet toward him. Plus, he had been spending a lot of time in the men’s room, where he worked hard to satisfy his perpetually hard cock, instead of in his office, where he should have worked hard to get his assignments done.

Tim tried to snap out of his reverie. His pectoral and ass muscles, hurting from the quick, heavy weightlifting of the preceding days, ached as he stretched and shifted in his chair.

Momentarily diverting his eyes from the rubber-hooded slave on his computer monitor, Tim looked down at the part of his body that usually controlled his thoughts: Demanding his attention, Tim’s cock rose up from the open zipper of his pants; it pumped independently, living its own life, eagerly seeking direct stimulation, telling Tim it was time again to charm the snake. With a mixture of disgust and horniness, Tim closed his hand around his sore, painfully stiff cock and squeezed. It looked and felt like the biggest boner he had ever experienced.

While Tim had not grown tired of viewing the pictures that documented his 10 days of service as Ross’s rubberpig, he had found that the continual self manipulation and beating off of the last 3 days satisfied him only briefly each time; 20-30 minutes post orgasm, his cock was always ready for more. In other words, Tim was dying of horniness. The constant pounding and repeated tossing off had become poor substitutes for the rubber-sealed bondage and control Ross had obliged Tim to endure. Furious at Ross initially when released, now, after only 3 days of freedom, Tim wanted to go back to the real thing. Wanking at galleries was not enough. His plans and efforts to move beyond the compulsion for rubber enslavement that Ross had activated were failing. The exhilarating freedom and sense of survival following his 10-day ordeal were fading in the heat of his current desires. His huff over Ross’s audacity, treating Tim for 10 days like some kind of rubber bondage robot, had passed. Imagining he was back in Ross’s dungeon – helplessly bound, gagged, sealed and locked away in a desolate purgatory of waiting for Ross – Tim pumped furiously until his cock exploded, erupting with enough cum to land on the keyboard, coat his hand, and stain his jeans.

An hour later, Tim was back at it, sitting naked at his desk and choking the chicken. So soon after cumming, however, there was less urgency to satisfy his cock as quickly. Rocking in place gingerly in the chair to grind the largest butt plug he owned deeper into his ass, Tim enjoyed riding the gentle wave of horniness enveloping him. The plug, being too big for regular wear, under normal circumstances would have resulted in instant orgasm upon insertion. With Tim’s current state of sexual overdrive, however, the super-sized discomfort merely engorged Tim’s dancing cock, which felt to Tim like it was directly connected to the plug underneath.

Tim jiggled his ass on the huge plug, and his smooth cock bounced up, full and hard, over top of the thick rubber stretcher squeezing his shaved balls. The weights attached to his nipple clamps bobbed.

Having been merciless with plugging himself at both ends, Tim sucked the saliva awkwardly to the back of his throat and swallowed hard to avoid drooling around the oversized gag he had strapped in place. Playing with his cock intermittently, Tim browsed the pictures and tried to ignore the nagging concern that entered his mind now that he was no longer totally consumed by horniness: He hadn’t heard from Ross since Sunday. Tim had been in such a snit when Ross drove him home that Tim hadn’t even tried to find out why Ross would be out of town or where he was going.

Aware that his use of the same ISP as Ross allowed him to check the status of messages, Tim clicked on his SENT folder and checked the two email messages, one sent last night and the other this morning. The system showed that Ross had opened both, and yet Tim had received no response. Tim reread the messages:

------------------------ 
Sir, 
Thanks for the email message with instructions and photos. Sorry I did not respond sooner. Hope your trip is going well. Also left a message on your cell phone. 
Tim 
------------------------ 
Sir, 
Getting ready for work this morning and just thought I’d touch base. Have been enjoying the photos! (Oink) Hope to hear from you soon. 
Tim 
------------------------

Tim wondered why Ross would read the messages but not respond. He composed a third message and clicked SEND:

Sir, 
Your pig is out of its mind with horniness and wishes it were sealed in rubber bondage in Your dungeon all week, left to squirm and sweat while waiting for You to return. Can’t wait until the weekend! 
pig

Tim’s cock, at full hardness, was leaking – precum or old cum? – Tim had been masturbating so much he could no longer distinguish between the two. He returned his gaze to the gallery. Taking in the full extent of activities and time span represented by all of the photos that were posted, Tim was impressed with how closely Ross had monitored Tim’s progress during the 10-day ordeal. While he had been encased and sealed up, bound tight and squirming in discomfort, unable to see or hear external stimuli, isolated and locked away, Tim had often regretted the situation bitterly, feeling angry and abandoned; thinking Ross was unreasonable; fretting that he would overheat, dehydrate, suffocate, or be permanently damaged. And yet it seemed obvious from the photos that Ross would never have let such things happen. It was clear that Ross, or one of his friends, had been closely caring for and watching over Tim the entire time. Ross had taken their shared rubber bondage fantasies to new levels – fuck, he had even surpassed them – in what now, in retrospect, appeared to be a realistic and safe manner! As hellish as the extreme, prolonged bondage had seemed to Tim at the time, Tim had to admit to himself that he felt fine and healthy; the only aftereffect was unrelenting horniness, leading him to want more! A sense of ungratefulness, unaccompanied by feelings of guilt, descended over Tim. He wished Ross would respond to his messages.

Scanning the photos for the umpteenth time, Tim’s attention was drawn to a file he had not noticed before, posted next to the gallery photos. Was the file, named “rubberpig in storage,” new? Or, had he simply overlooked it before, in a frenzy of horniness? His cock bobbing with excitement, Tim clicked quickly to open it, which activated the video player on his computer.

He would have gasped if his mouth were not stuffed full and stretched wide by the huge gag. Beating his cock while he squirmed on the massive plug and moaned around the gag, Tim watched the movie play on his computer monitor: A slim, muscular male, his appealing body totally encased in a skintight rubber catsuit, stood submissively at attention, with his head bowed in a slave-like pose. The camera panned into close-ups of a spreader bar locked between his ankles, a harness restraining his hands behind and high on his back, and a view of his head, sealed tightly inside a rubber hood with no openings except a tube at the mouth. The camera lingered for a few seconds at the mouth; with the audio, Tim could hear air enter and exit through the tube. Then the camera faded out of focus, transitioning to a scene that showed a zipper opened at the crotch of the slave’s catsuit, where it exposed a chastity device. The next few scenes, all focusing on similar frontal views, had obviously been skillfully edited to show the change from removal of the chastity device to the installation of a spike-lined pouch over the slave’s rapidly expanding cock and balls. Panning close-ups front and rear visually communicated that straps around the waist, through the ass crack, and over top of the butt-plugged hole were fastened tightly, trapping the slave’s compressed cock and balls within the encasement of the spiked jock before the catsuit was again zipped closed.

A pause in the sequence showed the slave flexing his knees, with accompanying audio indicating panting and moaning muffled by the rubber hood. The slave’s discomfort in adjusting to his new jock was obvious. Watching the video, Tim moaned through his own gag in enjoyment of the rubber victim’s torment.

Fading in and out from one shot to the next to signify sequential steps, the video then proceeded to document removal of the outer restraints and addition of a second layer of black latex, which enclosed the slave in a tightly molded rubber sleepsack, eventually sealed from head to toe with zippers and straps.

Tim continued stroking his cock as the video progressed forward to a point when the slave’s metamorphosis was complete: The tightly-muscled, rubber-catsuited male standing upright at the start of the video had been transformed into a prone, hogtied rubber mummy; supplementing the mummifying encasement of the rubber sack, the knees were bent and legs pulled back by straps connecting the slave’s restrained ankles to the top of his head, where a harness was fastened over the rubber hood and a thick collar encircled his neck. For about 20 seconds or longer, the camera remained still, capturing the squirming slave’s humiliating attempts to wiggle free from the arched position and shift the weight of his body off his crotch. With the time devoted to the scene, it seemed apparent that the cameraman was enjoying this particular sequence. As the picture finally started to dissolve, the struggling slave had managed to lean partially to one side, where he remained still, apparently resting; with a whoosh of air audible on the video, he appeared to sigh as deeply as the restraints and breathing tube allowed, as though in a state of acceptance of his uncomfortable predicament.

Whacking himself furiously, riding the butt plug, on the verge of cumming, Tim thought the movie was over, but the picture came back into view: The camera fade-in revealed that the hogtied rubber mummy had been transferred intact to the inside of a horizontal wooden box. Pulling back to show a lateral view of the open container, the camera then zoomed in on attachment points where the slave was immobilized by tethers to the front, top, and bottom sides of the box, the floor space of which allowed just enough room for him to rest on his stomach, on which he was trapped rigidly in place in the hogtie position. The last scene showed an anonymous, gloved hand closing the box, with the hogtied mummy inside disappearing from view. The camera zoomed back slightly, showing the gloved hand inserting padlocks into latches, and then the camera backed away further, giving a wider view of Ross’s dungeon. The video ended with the box in the distance as the dungeon light was turned off.

His right hand busily pumping, on the brink of allowing the meat-pounding to pass the point of no return, Tim reacted with a startle response as the noise of the telephone on his desk interrupted his wild masturbation. The caller ID showed Ross’s cell phone number. Tim let go of his cock and pulled madly at the straps and gag to get it out in time to answer the phone. Choking on the pooled saliva and sputtering into the phone, Tim cleared his throat and said, “Hello… um, Sir.”

Ross responded: “Hi, pig. What’s all that choking and coughing? Are you sick?”

“No, Sir. Um… My mouth was full when the phone rang.”

Ross chuckled and said, “Well, coincidentally, just before I called I was thinking of your mouth, as I aimed my cock at the toilet and took a long, noisy piss.”

Remaining silent, Tim felt his face coloring with humiliation. Tim was embarrassed to hear Ross talk about him like he was a toilet, and yet he knew that his cock fed on the idea of the control it represented. He stroked it, smeared precum over its head and then sucked the rest off his thumb as he heard Ross’s authoritative voice continue in his ear.

“What were you drinking, pig – your own piss, since you are temporarily deprived of mine?”

Tim was getting annoyed. He took his thumb out of his mouth and spoke up: “No, Sir. Um… I wasn’t drinking anything.”

As though sensing and enjoying Tim’s discomfiture, Ross sounded amused and playful. “Well, if not piss, then what was your mouth full of, pig?”

Tim hesitated. He was embarrassed to admit that he had gagged himself, and yet he knew Ross had a way of interrogating him about details, penetrating his thoughts, and exerting control whenever Tim tried to hide something. Tim cleared his throat again, swallowed and sighed. “I had a big gag in my mouth, Sir. I was so horny I put it in myself.”

Tim heard Ross’s deep, masculine voice take on an encouraging tone. “Excellent. Glad to hear it. My pig should be gagged as often and long as possible. Is there any other gear in place on my cute pig’s humpy little slave body?”

Tim smiled. Ross rarely complimented him on anything. Hearing Ross say “my cute pig” and admit he regarded Tim as “humpy” instantly extinguished Tim’s irritation.

Tim answered freely, almost proudly: “A huge butt plug, a ball stretcher, and nipple clamps.”

Ross suddenly barked through the phone in an imposing voice, “Hands off your cock, pig!”

Startled by the change in tone, Tim quickly let go of his cock, but then laughed at himself. “I really miss you, Sir.”

“How many times have you jerked off so far this week?”

“I don’t know. A lot. I lost track.”

“Sounds like you’ve had far too much freedom, pig. I thought you needed time this week to ponder your place in my life, but now I see I underestimated your interest in being my pig. Maybe I’ll have to devise a way to keep you busy the next 2 days.”

Tim wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. “I was just looking at the pictures and thinking about you. That’s all.”

Ross’s voice became even deeper, taking on an intensely sexual emphasis. “Yes, so it seems. I just read your latest email. I am glad to hear you’re looking forward to being under my control this weekend, but I wish I had known before I left town that you wanted to stay in my dungeon while I’m gone. It could have definitely been arranged. You’d be bound, sealed in gear, plugged, tubed and under control right now, waiting for me for days, all locked up and alone, well on your way to becoming the 24/7 encasement pig I want full time for my dungeon. A week sealed, bound, and all alone in my dungeon with me out of town would have been excellent training for you.”

Afraid it would explode on its own, Tim stared at his cock and stifled a moan. Yet, intruding on his horniness, a nagging doubt entered his mind. “Sir, would that be realistic? Safe?”

Ross gave an amused snort. “Absolutely. I have very effective methods of monitoring you, and friends who would be glad to ‘baby sit’ without you even knowing about it until they alter your restraints, feed you, or piss into your mouth at my instruction. And remote systems are in place, monitoring and surveillance, alarm and sprinkler systems, other setups and arrangements. You’d be very secure and protected, with everything under my control, even when I’m miles away. And if anything did go wrong, you’d be rescued. I take very good care of my possessions, especially my rubber toys, and that’s what you’d be.”

Ross’s voice and words sounded so assuring. Tim wanted to jerk off badly. Tim asked, “But is it reasonable to be tied up all the time?”

Ross explained. “Not without close supervision. Right now, you’re still in a training phase, requiring some form of bondage and encasement in rubber 99.9 percent of the time, but that doesn’t mean you won’t exercise and be kept healthy and clean. Later on, the conditions of your captivity may change somewhat. You’ll have chores and duties to attend to as my slave. No one can live tied up 100% of the time forever, even a bondage pig like you. While I’m still breaking you in, though, the solitude and bondage will be extreme at times, very challenging physically and emotionally, but you already know that and keep coming back for more, bondage pig that you are. It’s not bondage until you want out. And I’ll give you plenty of wanting out!”

Tim could no longer resist. He grabbed his cock and pumped. Practically groaning as he said it, Tim blurted out, “Sir, I want to be your pig, and I’m gonna cum!”

“If you cum, I’ll hang up!”

Tim stopped himself just in time. Trying to catch his breath, he attempted to remedy the situation. He panted into the phone and said breathlessly, “Okay. I stopped. Sorry. I promise not to unless you say I can. I do want to be your pig, though.”

Ross taunted Tim: “Then why are you expressing doubts? And why are you being disrespectful, talking on the phone to me without being encased in rubber?”

Dying of horniness but disconcerted by Ross’s comment, Tim squeezed his cock. “Sir?”

Adopting a serious tone, Ross started giving orders. “Put down the phone, strap the gag back in place, take off the nipple clamps, then pick up the phone, and grunt once.”

Tim complied quickly, trying to ignore the fire ignited in his pecs and hastily inserting the huge gag and pulling the straps tight. He picked up the phone and put the receiver against the gag. “Mmph.”

“Outstanding, pig. Oink once for ‘yes’ and twice for ‘no.’ Understand?”

“Mmph.”

“We’ve had a nice little chat tonight, but you’ll find that such opportunities will be rare in the future. I prefer to hear you communicate in pig mode only, with oinks, and only then when I give permission. Is your digital camera operational, pig?”

Tim had to think about it for a few seconds before responding positively. “Mmph.”

“Good. I want lots of pictures of you while I’m away. Listen carefully. After I hang up, set up the tripod and use the camera’s timer, the self-portrait feature to take a photo of yourself as you are now. Then, leave the gag, stretcher, and plug in place, and get yourself all situated in your catsuit, the one from London with the hood and gloves attached. When you are finished suiting up, take another photo showing yourself in rubber, and then send both photos to me by 10:30. I’ll call you after I get the pix. You should remain encased, waiting by the phone for me. I expect you to pick up on the first ring and give me an oink. Don’t disappoint me, pig.”

Tim grunted into the phone, but Ross did not respond; he had disconnected.

Twenty-three minutes later, Tim sat at his desk, trying to focus on the computer keyboard through the pinhole eyes of the catsuit’s hood. With the combination of the lube he had used to get the catsuit on quickly and the sweat that had already started to accumulate under it, Tim’s slimy, gloved fingers, glistening with slickness, kept hitting the wrong keys. He fumbled madly, cursing himself for taking Ross so seriously. Yet, he met the deadline, sending the email with its attachments at 10:29. The phone rang soon after.

“Mmph.”

“That’s much better, pig. I want you in total rubber encasement, with no skin showing, whenever you read my email or take a phone call from me while I’m away this week. While you were suiting up, I’ve been composing some messages for you. I will send the first one shortly after I hang up. Each will have a unique subject line indicating exactly what time you are to open it, which I expect you to do at the appointed hour and minute, no earlier and no later. You will be required to follow all instructions in each message in order to earn the privilege of being under my control this coming weekend. If you screw up, the weekend plans are off. Now let me hear an oink indicating you heard me before I hang up.”

Tim had heard, but he wasn’t sure he completely understood. “Mmph.”

“Night, pig.”

Tim felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. Part of him wanted the sound of Ross’s voice in his ear to continue. On the other hand, though, the conversation and the hurried efforts to get the catsuit on, photograph himself and send the pictures, all had exhausted him, and he was looking forward to taking everything off, especially the plug and gag, so that he could jerk off and go to bed.

As he started to unzip the catsuit, Tim tried to remember what Ross had said: “… want you in total rubber encasement… whenever you read my email or take a phone call from me…” Ross had said there would an email soon after he hung up.

Tim groaned into the gag. Silently, he said to himself, “Okay, I’ll wait until I read the email.” Feeling silly, Tim re-closed the zipper, signed on to his email quickly and checked his inbox. There was one message from Ross, and the subject line read, “10:50.”

Impatient and feeling foolish, Tim waited for 5 minutes until the exact time of 10:50, and then opened the message. 
--------------------------------------- 
pig,

I’ve designed a nice little series of exercises to keep u busy tonight, and perhaps tomorrow night too.

To reiterate the ground rules, u must open each message exactly at the assigned time – our use of the same email service provider allows me to track this. If u fail, plans for the weekend are off. Each message u receive from me will include a specific instruction to photograph urself while performing or after following a certain directive.

The catsuit u are wearing now is ur base layer; it will stay in place all night, with ur ass plugged and mouth gagged as they should still be now. When a message instructs u to add more rubber, the additional piece should stay in place in successive photos unless I tell u otherwise. I envision encasing u in at least two or three more suits, a larger catsuit plus wet and dry suits, building the layers of latex as the night goes on. u might be instructed to add ur posture collar, a second or third hood, ur rubber muzzle, rubber body harness, thick latex gloves, rubber waist cincher – hell, u could end up with all ur gear in place by morning! I might have u photograph urself while u assume a particular position, open crotch/ass zippers to show the plug is still in place, or some other task suitable for a rubber pig.

For each task, unless I specify a different time frame in the message, u must respond within 5 minutes with the required photo proving u have followed orders.

As I said, this exercise is designed to keep u busy tonight, under my control while I’m away, like u said u wanted. u should count on staying alert, signed on to your computer and on the lookout all night for new messages while u are between photo sessions. I used the automatic send feature to schedule the times when my messages will be sent by the system, so that the computer is programmed to transmit them all by itself while I relax comfortably or sleep in bed.

I will check ur responses carefully tonight and tomorrow morning, to ensure u have followed each instruction promptly, filling my inbox with photos of ur rubber adventures right through the night.

Time for u to get started, pig. Strap ur rubber head harness on over ur hood and gag; then do a full frontal shot and send it to my inbox by 11:00. 
---------------------------------------

Tim groaned loudly through the gag. “Fucking bastard,” he thought. Tim checked the time; he had less than 5 minutes to look for the harness, strap in on, and then complete the task of taking and sending the picture. Nervous and sweaty, about to enter into personality disorder mode, Tim felt ambivalent about what to do next. One of his multiple personalities wanted to lead him away from Ross, putting an end to the entire Ross scenario, present and future. This part of Tim reasoned that, while it had been fun for a few months to dissociate and spend all his “free” time tied up and encased in a hot rubberman’s basement, he should now return to the real world, a ‘normal’ life of work, family, friends, and relationships where he was an equal. He should turn off his computer, divest himself of the fetish apparel, and go to sleep like a ‘regular’ person who has to wake up early for work the next day.

The other part of Tim’s dual identity, the inherent rubberpig inhabiting his mind and connecting his psyche directly to his surging cock, wanted to lead him further into Ross, past the point of no return, where Ross’s desire for 100% control would be fully realized. 
Tim considered what that would mean tonight: Staying awake all night, sealing himself under layer after layer of rubber, and documenting the process with photos – all while Ross slept comfortably. Tim thought, “I’d have to be crazy with horniness to go along with that.”

An image flashed into Tim’s mind: Tim pictured himself as had been months ago, before Ross – he was Brad’s partner, surrounded by friends and family who doted on them, building his career and their network of friends and interests, enjoying the essence of open gay life. As that image faded, a second one came into focus: Tim pictured himself as he had been last week, a rubber prisoner in a basement – he was Ross’s pig, the gagged, plugged, jock-spiked, latex-sealed rubber mummy in the video, sleepsacked and hogtied, boxed and abandoned, left to squirm in the dark discomfort of rubber isolation and immobility, a human rubberworm.

Tim realized the contrast of the two images symbolized his impending choice, and his indecision. He squeezed his latex-gloved right hand over his rubber-encased crotch. He pressed down hard, squashing his enlarging cock with his palm. Trapped at an awkward angle and compressed uncomfortably inside the tight latex of the rubber catsuit, Tim’s cock stiffened further, in apparent enjoyment of Tim’s torment. The root of his being, the cause of all his rubber troubles and source of all his rubber passion, it pulsed against Tim’s palm with each heart beat, reminding him that seconds were passing, and time was running out...

Waiting Ross #26 : the lost chapter

A surreal moment caught Ross off guard; for a split second, the certainty typical of his consciousness, that feeling of total control over his environment, seemed altered. There was the sensation of his cock, swollen to hardness within the rubber jock under his tight leather jeans. The sudden increase in his erection, combined with the resurrection of the long-ago familiar stroke of the palm and fingers of the rough, masculine touch of Jack’s large, strong hand, roughly grazing the buzzed hair on Ross’s head, confused Ross’s senses.

With no intention of letting Jack be the source of the stimulation, Ross causally pushed Jack’s hand away from his head. Complying seemingly without notice, Jack moved his hand down to his side but continued to stand close behind Ross, seated at a desk in front of his computer in the guest room of Jack’s house. Acting on Ross’s advice, Jack ignored a new series of grunts, barely audible from within the storage compartment under the window seat in the corner of the room. Jack stared over Ross’s shoulder at the images on Ross’s computer screen.

Pointing to a particular photo, Jack asked, “Is that the guy you told me about? Have you finally found your mythic slave? Is he the bondage pig you’ve been searching for all these years?”

Knowing Jack was trying to get a rise out of him, Ross ignored the judgments inherent in the words Jack used to form his questions. “Yep, he may be the one,” Ross explained. “Though he gets a bit moody, running hot and cold, confused at times. But there’s no doubt he’s a bondage pig – my best pig yet.”

“Hard to tell what he looks like from those,” Jack said.

“These are all from the last few hours. Self photos he sent to prove he stayed awake all night, following my orders to encase himself in layer over layer of hot rubber right through the night.” Ross checked his watch, noting the three-hour time difference. “It’s still early back east. He has one or two more duties, little rubber assignments, with a few pictures to take this morning before he’s allowed to remove all that gear and go to work.”

Folding his arms and reinforcing his wide-legged stance behind Ross, Jack tried to sound serious: “Poor guy. I’d feel sorry for him if he’s your slave. He’ll be sealed airtight and tied up all the time, never to see the light of day again!”

Ross snorted. “I always let him out… eventually!”

As they both laughed, the increased noise of exaggerated, elongated pleas coming from the storage space was notable. “Mmmmmmmm! Mmmmmmm! Mmmph!”

Jack replied, “Sounds like Mark hears us talking. Are you sure he’s all right?”

Ross responded, “It’s his problem if he’s not. He knew what he was getting into.”

Jack explained, “I thought he’d be perfect for you. That’s why I hooked you two up while you were here.” Jack continued, “Thought you’d hit it off. He’s a good bottom, and says he’s looking for the kind of fulltime thing you always talk about.”

Ross responded, “He told me he had been looking forward to my visit, anxious to serve a real Master for a change.”

Jack laughed. “Fuck you.”

Ross responded, “I don’t think so!”

Jack moved forward, leaning his arms heavily on Ross’s shoulder, and smiled. “I’m just teasing you, Ross. You know I can’t resist. Do whatever you’d like with him, as long as he survives, healthy and intact. I don’t play with him much anymore, but this is my house!”

Ross knew Jack was right. The competitiveness between them, the struggle to exert power over each other, dormant while they lived on opposite coasts, was threatening to rise to the surface during Ross’s visit to Jack’s west coast home. Ross wondered if the rubber prison to which he had subjected Mark was a manifestation of their old rivalry, the struggle to prove that one could top better than the other.

Putting thoughts of Mark out of his mind for the moment, Ross positioned his mouse pointer over one of the pictures of Tim. “This one lives for it, a born bondage pig, meant to be sealed 24/7. He’d know better than to whine.”

Jack asked, “Is he ready to move in with you?”

Ross responded. “I thing he’s on the verge, and I can be patient. Anyway, if he doesn’t work out, I can find another pig with a click of my mouse.”

Jack leaned further down, with his mouth at Ross’s ear, and talked in a mock whisper, though it was nothing more than an excuse to get closer. “They’re plentiful in this city. But even here, you might have to search quite a while for someone willing to stay tied up in rubber gear, locked away alone in your basement for days, weeks, hell, if it’s left to you - months at a time!”

Ross turned and pushed Jack’s face away. Turning back to the computer display, Ross said, “Well, I have invested a lot of time in him, not to mention the customized gear. You know my addiction to tight gear. There’s nothing better than the sight of a tightly encased rubber pig ready for service.”

“Does the pig have a name?”

Ross actually had to think about it for a moment before responding, “Tim.”

Jack said, “That reminds me. The custom made item you ordered should be ready today. We can go to the shop and pick it up after breakfast. I assume it’s for Tim.” Ross nodded yes. Leaning closer again, Jack scanned the photos. “Still can’t tell what he looks like.”

Indulging Jack’s curiosity, Ross began clicking through the portfolio of Tim that happened to be on his laptop. There were more photos than he would have guessed, easily hundreds. Ross browsed quickly though them, trying to locate one that revealed something of Tim’s identity and cuteness. The images flashed across the computer screen. Photo after photo of Tim showed a rubber-hooded male figure, small and slim but well-proportioned; bound, sealed in gear, plugged, tubed and under control; imprisoned in rubber and leather straitjackets and sleepsacks; squeezed into armless pod suits and bound tight in sacks and bags; totally encapsulated and mummified, sometimes in contorted, uncomfortable-looking positions; sealed in a rubber dog suit; encircled by collars and restraints of rubber and leather and steel; tied with ropes; suspended in closed areas, locked in boxes and a lowered into a pit; encased in head to toe rubber, doubled up and bowed back in a tightly hogtied mass of rubber and straps and tubes.

The photos gave the impression of a slave essentially into no limits s/m, a genuine 24/7 encasement pig, totally dominated by its Master. Ross’s enjoyment of controlling the rubber-encased slave with extreme bondage was evident in the images displayed on his computer and in the bulge displayed in his crotch as he searched through the photos.

Jack resisted the urge to grab Ross’s crotch. Instead, he chuckled and said mockingly, “I can see he’s very cute.”

Ross laughed also. “Well, you know I don’t like my slaves to show much skin!” Ross continued clicking and searching, until he finally found the photos he remembered. “Here are some.”

Jack leaned in for a closer look as Ross zoomed in successively on a half dozen photos of different views showing the same situation: a tightly muscled, totally naked and hairless male was trapped in a triple rigid restraint system, a metal stock enclosing wrists and ankles, each held separately and locked tightly in a rigid line at floor level in the combination ankle/wrist component, which was bisected by a short iron bar connecting it to a wide steel collar encircling the subject’s neck. Trapped in the severe device, Tim had been forced to pose in different squatting and kneeling positions, seriously restricted by the difficult posture required by the unyielding metal restraint. Ross explained, “I wanted to photograph him rubberless the first time he was totally shaved, head to toe.” In addition to documenting Tim’s hairless state, the variety of positions and photographic angles showed his ass cheeks pushed apart by the mammoth black base of a huge butt plug; his mouth stretched wide and jammed full around a large ball gag tightly strapped to his newly shaved, shiny, bald head; his cock penetrated by a catheter tube, its end closed off by a small cork; and his ballsack encircled by a thick leather stretcher tied to the center of the rigid bar at his ankles and wrists. A frontal close-up shot, with Tim sitting uncomfortably hunched forward, revealed clamps on his nipples. A rear view showed Tim in an ass-up, face-down position: his ankles, knees, shoulders, and head were against the floor, allowing the camera to focus between his legs on spikes lining the inside of the ball stretcher.

Jack studied the set of photos. The physical posturing enforced by the rigid array of connected metal looked contorted and sadistic. The plug, tube, gag, and ball spikes appeared cruel. The facial expressions, distorted by the huge ball filling the mouth, looked stretched and agonized. Yet, in spite of the obvious discomfort the slave was in, or perhaps because of it, he had a raging hardon in all of the pictures. His erect cock stuck up and out, straight and very stiff, with the yellow catheter tube protruding. Taking in the well-proportioned muscles and body, cute, masculine feet and handsome (though distorted) features, Jack ascertained that Ross’s ‘pig’ would be a good-looking young man under normal circumstances.

Jack commented, “I guess he is pretty cute. Do you always keep him cath’d?”

“I like my pigs totally plugged and tubed at all times, all holes under my control...”

Interrupted by loud, rhythmic groans, Ross stopped in mid-sentence.

“Mmmm mmmm mmmmm mmmm. Mmmm. M-M-M-M-M!"

Ross said, “Speaking of pigs, sounds like your friend Mark is oinking.”

The agonized groaning continued for 20 seconds or so, followed by low moans and the faint sound of gasps of heavy breathing, and then silence. Soon after, however, muffled little yelps were audible.

“L-P!” “L-P!” “L-P!”

Jack said, “Sounds like ‘UNCLE’ to me. He probably wants out.”

Ross checked the time. “Not yet. He has 6 more hours to go. He committed to 16 hours in there.”

“L-P!” “L-P!” “L-P!”

Jack began walking to the corner. “I’m gonna check on him. I’m curious anyway to see what you’ve done with him.”

Ross clicked COMPUTER OFF and stood as his system began shutting down. He turned to Jack. “I just checked on him before you came in, and he was fine. I’d leave him be. Let’s go to breakfast. He’ll calm down when he realizes we’re gone.”

But Jack had already bent down to unlatch the cabinet on the front of the window seat, only to find it was padlocked.

Jack asked, “Where’s the key?”

Unwilling to give up control, Ross hesitated. His second thoughts about staying with Jack during this trip, and playing with Jack’s friend, were rising to the surface and filling his mind with doubt. Ross weighed his basic need to have 100% control against his friendship with Jack. Slowly, Ross reached into a pocket and handed the key to Jack. Soon thereafter, the door under the window seat swung open. Inside the dark space, in the small compartment originally intended for storage, the first visible sign of Mark was a tightly hooded, rubber-encased head, completely sealed, with a tube protruding at the mouth.

“Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh…”

As the door opened completely, Jack felt as though one of Ross’s photos had leaped out of Ross’s computer to become a real event. The situation was ‘pure Ross’: Jack’s friend Mark had been transformed into a rubber life form of unrecognizable species. Although its eyes were covered by the latex of the hood, the tightly bound rubber creature tried to turn its head to the side, aware that its container had been opened and trying to see. Struggling uselessly against the bindings keeping it in place, it squirmed and snorted, redoubling its efforts to groan loudly for attention.

“Uht, uht, uht, uht, uht, uht, uht…”

“He’s saying ‘out, out.’” Jack looked at Ross with a quizzical expression.

Ross said, “Last night after you were gone Mark went wild over a picture he saw on my computer of my pig all bound up and boxed. He asked me a million questions about it, begging for it, licking my boots and sucking my cock, all the while pleading for me to do the same to him, so I gave him what he asked for.”

Jack squatted down to study the vulcanized form as it wiggled and squealed. “So why isn’t it time to let him out?”

Ross gestured with both hands. “As you said, this is your house. Go ahead. Let him out if you want. He told me he wanted the same as my pig, 16 hours overnight that way. I warned him that my pig is well trained in advanced bondage, but Mark assured me he could take it.”

“UHT!” “UHT!”

Jack inhaled, taking in the scent of rubber emanating from the storage space. He observed the squirming movements, which suddenly seemed to be fueled by anger, and listened to the pleas for help, which suddenly sounded pitiful, almost annoyingly so. Jack issued a loud, sharp command for Mark to shut up and keep still.

The bound rubber form became motionless and silent, quietly breathing in and out through its rubber tube. In addition to the latex aroma, Jack felt rubber heat radiating from Mark’s encased and bound body. A line of escaping perspiration squeezed out from under the bondage collar around his neck, but otherwise Mark appeared to be a perfectly sealed rubber pig, salt-curing in its own sweat, concealed under the layers of tight rubber.

Jack wanted to free Mark’s mouth, but only its tube was accessible, protruding through a hole in the muzzle harnessed to Mark’s head. Intertwined with tethers connected to anchors at the top and sides of the enclosure to prevent movement, the muzzle and bondage collar, fastened tightly over the rubber hood, were strapped firmly in place and secured with padlocks.

Jack asked, “He’s been that way all night?”

Ross responded, “He wanted it, assured me he’d be okay, and I’ve been checking on him periodically. He panicked two or three times, and I had to talk him through it, telling him to remember he got what he asked for, quite an intense predicament, all sealed up, sacked, strapped, with his legs bent back like that.”

Mark started whining anew, and Jack ignored him as he studied Ross’s work. Mark was on his stomach, with limited ability to shift his weight from side to side as he wiggled and squirmed as much as the anchoring ropes allowed. In addition to the cocoon effect produced by the rubber sleepsack Ross had used to mummify Mark, a collection of rubber belts encircled Mark’s encased body. His knees were bent, and his legs were doubled up, held in position by belts encircling lower to upper legs and ankles to thighs.

Just as Jack stood up, Mark began to moan and struggle again in earnest. The decibel level of Mark’s objections increased as the bound rubber cocoon bucked and jerked inside the small space. Stepping aside, Jack said, “Okay, Ross, let me see you talk him through this.”

Ross quickly walked over to the window and squatted beside the storage compartment. He reached inside and clamped his left hand over Mark’s muzzled chin, collapsing the tube of Mark’s gag with his fingers. Calmly studying his watch, Ross felt his own cock surge as he observed the struggles of the rubber mummy while it kicked, squirmed, and sucked rubber at mouth and nostrils, helpless in its efforts to breathe within or escape from its tightly sealed cocoon. At the 30-second mark, Ross released the tube. Mark gasped and moaned loudly, panting and wheezing through the tube in relief. A few deep breaths followed, until Ross clamped the tube again promptly. Ross spoke loudly. “I decide when you breathe. Remember, pig?” Mark responded quickly with two muffled grunts, in an obvious attempt to say, “Yes, Sir!”

“And I decide when you get out! Copy that, pig?”

Mark seemed to grunt in agreement, but Ross kept the tube clamped anyway, for 40 seconds this time, to emphasize his point. Standing behind Ross, Jack observed the action in silence. Ross’s no-nonsense approach with Mark was having an effect on Jack’s cock. His earlier concern for Mark was giving way to horniness as he watched the bound rubber cocoon squirm, helpless to do anything about its breathless state until Ross released the tube.

While Mark caught his breath for the second time, Ross put his mouth next to Mark’s rubber-sealed head and talked loudly. “If I were to treat you like my pig at home, which is what you said you wanted, here is what I’d say to him: You had six more hours to go until your temper tantrum, which gets you a two hour penalty. Looks like you’re staying put, sweating it out, just the way you are, for eight more hours, after which you will have the privilege of taking the contents of my full bladder through your mouth tube before I let you out of this.”

Ross quickly stood up and closed the door of the storage compartment, but within seconds a muffled braying sound penetrated its walls and filled the room. Ross looked at Jack, giving him a smirk, and reached into his pockets to fish out the keys to the padlocks on Mark’s muzzle and collar.

Within a few minutes, Ross had extracted Mark from the storage compartment, unfastened the bindings, and released him from the sleepsack. Standing before them in his catsuit, which glistened with rubber-sweat, Mark peeled off the rubber hood. A red, wet face greeted Ross with an apologetic look.

Mark coughed a few times, clearing his throat. In a quiet voice, he said, “Guess I’m not at the same level as your pig back home.”

Ross had a sudden onslaught of tender thoughts, full of Tim, missing Tim and his acceptance of control, and Ross was annoyed at himself for the sentimentality of it. He replied bluntly, “That’s right. You’re not in his league. Now go get cleaned up and we’ll take you to breakfast.”

Waiting for Ross #25

Focusing instead on the sensations of his pulsating cock, Tim ignored the other parts of his body that were stiff and sore – mostly his neck, but also his right shoulder and arm, buttocks, thighs, and asshole. Three days of jerking off 5-10 times every 24 hours had taken a toll on Tim’s masturbation muscles!

Seated at his desk, Tim pushed forward in the chair. It was just past 8:30 PM. He had been home for 15 minutes. Mail unread, laundry everywhere, dishes in the kitchen sink: Tim was oblivious to the waiting chores in his apartment as he sat in front of his computer. Today, jerking off in a stall of the restroom at work, he had cum only twice since leaving his apartment this morning, and the resulting horniness was building up, especially now that he was finally home, all alone with his hard dick. Dropping it for a moment, Tim paused to roll his head from side to side as he massaged his neck. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his hand against the stubble over his scalp. His cock throbbed at the reminder of his shaved head.

Riveted to his computer for the third night in a row, Tim was no longer mesmerized by the array of images depicting his recent rubber imprisonment in Ross’s dungeon. Yes, the photos of the rubberized victim, always severely bound and encased head to toe, still produced unending hard-ons. And no, he hadn’t lost interest in studying every detail, at which he marveled when contemplating the fetishism that addicted him to Ross. In fact, earlier tonight, anxious to get home to browse the galleries for the 100th time, he had rushed through his after-work visit to the gym and subsequent dinner with his parents. A similar state of affairs had also occurred the night before, when he had hit the gym in an exercise fury and then shortened his dinner with Brad, who had annoyed Tim with teasing remarks about his ‘hot new do’ and questions about Ross.

“Fuck,” Tim said aloud. Tim struggled to clear his mind of memories of Brad’s probing comments and the look on his mother’s face as she tried not to stare at his baldness. And, he did not want to think about how difficult it had been this week to concentrate on his responsibilities at work. The 7-day absence, followed by showing up with a shaved head, had elicited unwanted notice by his coworkers, and his boss Judy had been very quiet toward him. Plus, he had been spending a lot of time in the men’s room, where he worked hard to satisfy his perpetually hard cock, instead of in his office, where he should have worked hard to get his assignments done.

Tim tried to snap out of his reverie. His pectoral and ass muscles, hurting from the quick, heavy weightlifting of the preceding days, ached as he stretched and shifted in his chair.

Momentarily diverting his eyes from the rubber-hooded slave on his computer monitor, Tim looked down at the part of his body that usually controlled his thoughts: Demanding his attention, Tim’s cock rose up from the open zipper of his pants; it pumped independently, living its own life, eagerly seeking direct stimulation, telling Tim it was time again to charm the snake. With a mixture of disgust and horniness, Tim closed his hand around his sore, painfully stiff cock and squeezed. It looked and felt like the biggest boner he had ever experienced.

While Tim had not grown tired of viewing the pictures that documented his 10 days of service as Ross’s rubberpig, he had found that the continual self manipulation and beating off of the last 3 days satisfied him only briefly each time; 20-30 minutes post orgasm, his cock was always ready for more. In other words, Tim was dying of horniness. The constant pounding and repeated tossing off had become poor substitutes for the rubber-sealed bondage and control Ross had obliged Tim to endure. Furious at Ross initially when released, now, after only 3 days of freedom, Tim wanted to go back to the real thing. Wanking at galleries was not enough. His plans and efforts to move beyond the compulsion for rubber enslavement that Ross had activated were failing. The exhilarating freedom and sense of survival following his 10-day ordeal were fading in the heat of his current desires. His huff over Ross’s audacity, treating Tim for 10 days like some kind of rubber bondage robot, had passed. Imagining he was back in Ross’s dungeon – helplessly bound, gagged, sealed and locked away in a desolate purgatory of waiting for Ross – Tim pumped furiously until his cock exploded, erupting with enough cum to land on the keyboard, coat his hand, and stain his jeans.

An hour later, Tim was back at it, sitting naked at his desk and choking the chicken. So soon after cumming, however, there was less urgency to satisfy his cock as quickly. Rocking in place gingerly in the chair to grind the largest butt plug he owned deeper into his ass, Tim enjoyed riding the gentle wave of horniness enveloping him. The plug, being too big for regular wear, under normal circumstances would have resulted in instant orgasm upon insertion. With Tim’s current state of sexual overdrive, however, the super-sized discomfort merely engorged Tim’s dancing cock, which felt to Tim like it was directly connected to the plug underneath.

Tim jiggled his ass on the huge plug, and his smooth cock bounced up, full and hard, over top of the thick rubber stretcher squeezing his shaved balls. The weights attached to his nipple clamps bobbed.

Having been merciless with plugging himself at both ends, Tim sucked the saliva awkwardly to the back of his throat and swallowed hard to avoid drooling around the oversized gag he had strapped in place. Playing with his cock intermittently, Tim browsed the pictures and tried to ignore the nagging concern that entered his mind now that he was no longer totally consumed by horniness: He hadn’t heard from Ross since Sunday. Tim had been in such a snit when Ross drove him home that Tim hadn’t even tried to find out why Ross would be out of town or where he was going.

Aware that his use of the same ISP as Ross allowed him to check the status of messages, Tim clicked on his SENT folder and checked the two email messages, one sent last night and the other this morning. The system showed that Ross had opened both, and yet Tim had received no response. Tim reread the messages:

------------------------
Sir,
Thanks for the email message with instructions and photos. Sorry I did not respond sooner. Hope your trip is going well. Also left a message on your cell phone.
Tim
------------------------
Sir,
Getting ready for work this morning and just thought I’d touch base. Have been enjoying the photos! (Oink) Hope to hear from you soon.
Tim
------------------------

Tim wondered why Ross would read the messages but not respond. He composed a third message and clicked SEND:

Sir,
Your pig is out of its mind with horniness and wishes it were sealed in rubber bondage in Your dungeon all week, left to squirm and sweat while waiting for You to return. Can’t wait until the weekend!
pig

Tim’s cock, at full hardness, was leaking – precum or old cum? – Tim had been masturbating so much he could no longer distinguish between the two. He returned his gaze to the gallery. Taking in the full extent of activities and time span represented by all of the photos that were posted, Tim was impressed with how closely Ross had monitored Tim’s progress during the 10-day ordeal. While he had been encased and sealed up, bound tight and squirming in discomfort, unable to see or hear external stimuli, isolated and locked away, Tim had often regretted the situation bitterly, feeling angry and abandoned; thinking Ross was unreasonable; fretting that he would overheat, dehydrate, suffocate, or be permanently damaged. And yet it seemed obvious from the photos that Ross would never have let such things happen. It was clear that Ross, or one of his friends, had been closely caring for and watching over Tim the entire time. Ross had taken their shared rubber bondage fantasies to new levels – fuck, he had even surpassed them – in what now, in retrospect, appeared to be a realistic and safe manner! As hellish as the extreme, prolonged bondage had seemed to Tim at the time, Tim had to admit to himself that he felt fine and healthy; the only aftereffect was unrelenting horniness, leading him to want more! A sense of ungratefulness, unaccompanied by feelings of guilt, descended over Tim. He wished Ross would respond to his messages.

Scanning the photos for the umpteenth time, Tim’s attention was drawn to a file he had not noticed before, posted next to the gallery photos. Was the file, named “rubberpig in storage,” new? Or, had he simply overlooked it before, in a frenzy of horniness? His cock bobbing with excitement, Tim clicked quickly to open it, which activated the video player on his computer.

He would have gasped if his mouth were not stuffed full and stretched wide by the huge gag. Beating his cock while he squirmed on the massive plug and moaned around the gag, Tim watched the movie play on his computer monitor: A slim, muscular male, his appealing body totally encased in a skintight rubber catsuit, stood submissively at attention, with his head bowed in a slave-like pose. The camera panned into close-ups of a spreader bar locked between his ankles, a harness restraining his hands behind and high on his back, and a view of his head, sealed tightly inside a rubber hood with no openings except a tube at the mouth. The camera lingered for a few seconds at the mouth; with the audio, Tim could hear air enter and exit through the tube. Then the camera faded out of focus, transitioning to a scene that showed a zipper opened at the crotch of the slave’s catsuit, where it exposed a chastity device. The next few scenes, all focusing on similar frontal views, had obviously been skillfully edited to show the change from removal of the chastity device to the installation of a spike-lined pouch over the slave’s rapidly expanding cock and balls. Panning close-ups front and rear visually communicated that straps around the waist, through the ass crack, and over top of the butt-plugged hole were fastened tightly, trapping the slave’s compressed cock and balls within the encasement of the spiked jock before the catsuit was again zipped closed.

A pause in the sequence showed the slave flexing his knees, with accompanying audio indicating panting and moaning muffled by the rubber hood. The slave’s discomfort in adjusting to his new jock was obvious. Watching the video, Tim moaned through his own gag in enjoyment of the rubber victim’s torment.

Fading in and out from one shot to the next to signify sequential steps, the video then proceeded to document removal of the outer restraints and addition of a second layer of black latex, which enclosed the slave in a tightly molded rubber sleepsack, eventually sealed from head to toe with zippers and straps.

Tim continued stroking his cock as the video progressed forward to a point when the slave’s metamorphosis was complete: The tightly-muscled, rubber-catsuited male standing upright at the start of the video had been transformed into a prone, hogtied rubber mummy; supplementing the mummifying encasement of the rubber sack, the knees were bent and legs pulled back by straps connecting the slave’s restrained ankles to the top of his head, where a harness was fastened over the rubber hood and a thick collar encircled his neck. For about 20 seconds or longer, the camera remained still, capturing the squirming slave’s humiliating attempts to wiggle free from the arched position and shift the weight of his body off his crotch. With the time devoted to the scene, it seemed apparent that the cameraman was enjoying this particular sequence. As the picture finally started to dissolve, the struggling slave had managed to lean partially to one side, where he remained still, apparently resting; with a whoosh of air audible on the video, he appeared to sigh as deeply as the restraints and breathing tube allowed, as though in a state of acceptance of his uncomfortable predicament.

Whacking himself furiously, riding the butt plug, on the verge of cumming, Tim thought the movie was over, but the picture came back into view: The camera fade-in revealed that the hogtied rubber mummy had been transferred intact to the inside of a horizontal wooden box. Pulling back to show a lateral view of the open container, the camera then zoomed in on attachment points where the slave was immobilized by tethers to the front, top, and bottom sides of the box, the floor space of which allowed just enough room for him to rest on his stomach, on which he was trapped rigidly in place in the hogtie position. The last scene showed an anonymous, gloved hand closing the box, with the hogtied mummy inside disappearing from view. The camera zoomed back slightly, showing the gloved hand inserting padlocks into latches, and then the camera backed away further, giving a wider view of Ross’s dungeon. The video ended with the box in the distance as the dungeon light was turned off.

His right hand busily pumping, on the brink of allowing the meat-pounding to pass the point of no return, Tim reacted with a startle response as the noise of the telephone on his desk interrupted his wild masturbation. The caller ID showed Ross’s cell phone number. Tim let go of his cock and pulled madly at the straps and gag to get it out in time to answer the phone. Choking on the pooled saliva and sputtering into the phone, Tim cleared his throat and said, “Hello… um, Sir.”

Ross responded: “Hi, pig. What’s all that choking and coughing? Are you sick?”

“No, Sir. Um… My mouth was full when the phone rang.”

Ross chuckled and said, “Well, coincidentally, just before I called I was thinking of your mouth, as I aimed my cock at the toilet and took a long, noisy piss.”

Remaining silent, Tim felt his face coloring with humiliation. Tim was embarrassed to hear Ross talk about him like he was a toilet, and yet he knew that his cock fed on the idea of the control it represented. He stroked it, smeared precum over its head and then sucked the rest off his thumb as he heard Ross’s authoritative voice continue in his ear.

“What were you drinking, pig – your own piss, since you are temporarily deprived of mine?”

Tim was getting annoyed. He took his thumb out of his mouth and spoke up: “No, Sir. Um… I wasn’t drinking anything.”

As though sensing and enjoying Tim’s discomfiture, Ross sounded amused and playful. “Well, if not piss, then what was your mouth full of, pig?”

Tim hesitated. He was embarrassed to admit that he had gagged himself, and yet he knew Ross had a way of interrogating him about details, penetrating his thoughts, and exerting control whenever Tim tried to hide something. Tim cleared his throat again, swallowed and sighed. “I had a big gag in my mouth, Sir. I was so horny I put it in myself.”

Tim heard Ross’s deep, masculine voice take on an encouraging tone. “Excellent. Glad to hear it. My pig should be gagged as often and long as possible. Is there any other gear in place on my cute pig’s humpy little slave body?”

Tim smiled. Ross rarely complimented him on anything. Hearing Ross say “my cute pig” and admit he regarded Tim as “humpy” instantly extinguished Tim’s irritation.

Tim answered freely, almost proudly: “A huge butt plug, a ball stretcher, and nipple clamps.”

Ross suddenly barked through the phone in an imposing voice, “Hands off your cock, pig!”

Startled by the change in tone, Tim quickly let go of his cock, but then laughed at himself. “I really miss you, Sir.”

“How many times have you jerked off so far this week?”

“I don’t know. A lot. I lost track.”

“Sounds like you’ve had far too much freedom, pig. I thought you needed time this week to ponder your place in my life, but now I see I underestimated your interest in being my pig. Maybe I’ll have to devise a way to keep you busy the next 2 days.”

Tim wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. “I was just looking at the pictures and thinking about you. That’s all.”

Ross’s voice became even deeper, taking on an intensely sexual emphasis. “Yes, so it seems. I just read your latest email. I am glad to hear you’re looking forward to being under my control this weekend, but I wish I had known before I left town that you wanted to stay in my dungeon while I’m gone. It could have definitely been arranged. You’d be bound, sealed in gear, plugged, tubed and under control right now, waiting for me for days, all locked up and alone, well on your way to becoming the 24/7 encasement pig I want full time for my dungeon. A week sealed, bound, and all alone in my dungeon with me out of town would have been excellent training for you.”

Afraid it would explode on its own, Tim stared at his cock and stifled a moan. Yet, intruding on his horniness, a nagging doubt entered his mind. “Sir, would that be realistic? Safe?”

Ross gave an amused snort. “Absolutely. I have very effective methods of monitoring you, and friends who would be glad to ‘baby sit’ without you even knowing about it until they alter your restraints, feed you, or piss into your mouth at my instruction. And remote systems are in place, monitoring and surveillance, alarm and sprinkler systems, other setups and arrangements. You’d be very secure and protected, with everything under my control, even when I’m miles away. And if anything did go wrong, you’d be rescued. I take very good care of my possessions, especially my rubber toys, and that’s what you’d be.”

Ross’s voice and words sounded so assuring. Tim wanted to jerk off badly. Tim asked, “But is it reasonable to be tied up all the time?”

Ross explained. “Not without close supervision. Right now, you’re still in a training phase, requiring some form of bondage and encasement in rubber 99.9 percent of the time, but that doesn’t mean you won’t exercise and be kept healthy and clean. Later on, the conditions of your captivity may change somewhat. You’ll have chores and duties to attend to as my slave. No one can live tied up 100% of the time forever, even a bondage pig like you. While I’m still breaking you in, though, the solitude and bondage will be extreme at times, very challenging physically and emotionally, but you already know that and keep coming back for more, bondage pig that you are. It’s not bondage until you want out. And I’ll give you plenty of wanting out!”

Tim could no longer resist. He grabbed his cock and pumped. Practically groaning as he said it, Tim blurted out, “Sir, I want to be your pig, and I’m gonna cum!”

“If you cum, I’ll hang up!”

Tim stopped himself just in time. Trying to catch his breath, he attempted to remedy the situation. He panted into the phone and said breathlessly, “Okay. I stopped. Sorry. I promise not to unless you say I can. I do want to be your pig, though.”

Ross taunted Tim: “Then why are you expressing doubts? And why are you being disrespectful, talking on the phone to me without being encased in rubber?”

Dying of horniness but disconcerted by Ross’s comment, Tim squeezed his cock. “Sir?”

Adopting a serious tone, Ross started giving orders. “Put down the phone, strap the gag back in place, take off the nipple clamps, then pick up the phone, and grunt once.”

Tim complied quickly, trying to ignore the fire ignited in his pecs and hastily inserting the huge gag and pulling the straps tight. He picked up the phone and put the receiver against the gag. “Mmph.”

“Outstanding, pig. Oink once for ‘yes’ and twice for ‘no.’ Understand?”

“Mmph.”

“We’ve had a nice little chat tonight, but you’ll find that such opportunities will be rare in the future. I prefer to hear you communicate in pig mode only, with oinks, and only then when I give permission. Is your digital camera operational, pig?”

Tim had to think about it for a few seconds before responding positively. “Mmph.”

“Good. I want lots of pictures of you while I’m away. Listen carefully. After I hang up, set up the tripod and use the camera’s timer, the self-portrait feature to take a photo of yourself as you are now. Then, leave the gag, stretcher, and plug in place, and get yourself all situated in your catsuit, the one from London with the hood and gloves attached. When you are finished suiting up, take another photo showing yourself in rubber, and then send both photos to me by 10:30. I’ll call you after I get the pix. You should remain encased, waiting by the phone for me. I expect you to pick up on the first ring and give me an oink. Don’t disappoint me, pig.”

Tim grunted into the phone, but Ross did not respond; he had disconnected.

Twenty-three minutes later, Tim sat at his desk, trying to focus on the computer keyboard through the pinhole eyes of the catsuit’s hood. With the combination of the lube he had used to get the catsuit on quickly and the sweat that had already started to accumulate under it, Tim’s slimy, gloved fingers, glistening with slickness, kept hitting the wrong keys. He fumbled madly, cursing himself for taking Ross so seriously. Yet, he met the deadline, sending the email with its attachments at 10:29. The phone rang soon after.

“Mmph.”

“That’s much better, pig. I want you in total rubber encasement, with no skin showing, whenever you read my email or take a phone call from me while I’m away this week. While you were suiting up, I’ve been composing some messages for you. I will send the first one shortly after I hang up. Each will have a unique subject line indicating exactly what time you are to open it, which I expect you to do at the appointed hour and minute, no earlier and no later. You will be required to follow all instructions in each message in order to earn the privilege of being under my control this coming weekend. If you screw up, the weekend plans are off. Now let me hear an oink indicating you heard me before I hang up.”

Tim had heard, but he wasn’t sure he completely understood. “Mmph.”

“Night, pig.”

Tim felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. Part of him wanted the sound of Ross’s voice in his ear to continue. On the other hand, though, the conversation and the hurried efforts to get the catsuit on, photograph himself and send the pictures, all had exhausted him, and he was looking forward to taking everything off, especially the plug and gag, so that he could jerk off and go to bed.

As he started to unzip the catsuit, Tim tried to remember what Ross had said: “… want you in total rubber encasement… whenever you read my email or take a phone call from me…” Ross had said there would an email soon after he hung up.

Tim groaned into the gag. Silently, he said to himself, “Okay, I’ll wait until I read the email.” Feeling silly, Tim re-closed the zipper, signed on to his email quickly and checked his inbox. There was one message from Ross, and the subject line read, “10:50.”

Impatient and feeling foolish, Tim waited for 5 minutes until the exact time of 10:50, and then opened the message.
---------------------------------------
pig,

I’ve designed a nice little series of exercises to keep u busy tonight, and perhaps tomorrow night too.

To reiterate the ground rules, u must open each message exactly at the assigned time – our use of the same email service provider allows me to track this. If u fail, plans for the weekend are off. Each message u receive from me will include a specific instruction to photograph urself while performing or after following a certain directive.

The catsuit u are wearing now is ur base layer; it will stay in place all night, with ur ass plugged and mouth gagged as they should still be now. When a message instructs u to add more rubber, the additional piece should stay in place in successive photos unless I tell u otherwise. I envision encasing u in at least two or three more suits, a larger catsuit plus wet and dry suits, building the layers of latex as the night goes on. u might be instructed to add ur posture collar, a second or third hood, ur rubber muzzle, rubber body harness, thick latex gloves, rubber waist cincher – hell, u could end up with all ur gear in place by morning! I might have u photograph urself while u assume a particular position, open crotch/ass zippers to show the plug is still in place, or some other task suitable for a rubber pig.

For each task, unless I specify a different time frame in the message, u must respond within 5 minutes with the required photo proving u have followed orders.

As I said, this exercise is designed to keep u busy tonight, under my control while I’m away, like u said u wanted. u should count on staying alert, signed on to your computer and on the lookout all night for new messages while u are between photo sessions. I used the automatic send feature to schedule the times when my messages will be sent by the system, so that the computer is programmed to transmit them all by itself while I relax comfortably or sleep in bed.

I will check ur responses carefully tonight and tomorrow morning, to ensure u have followed each instruction promptly, filling my inbox with photos of ur rubber adventures right through the night.

Time for u to get started, pig. Strap ur rubber head harness on over ur hood and gag; then do a full frontal shot and send it to my inbox by 11:00.
---------------------------------------

Tim groaned loudly through the gag. “Fucking bastard,” he thought. Tim checked the time; he had less than 5 minutes to look for the harness, strap in on, and then complete the task of taking and sending the picture. Nervous and sweaty, about to enter into personality disorder mode, Tim felt ambivalent about what to do next. One of his multiple personalities wanted to lead him away from Ross, putting an end to the entire Ross scenario, present and future. This part of Tim reasoned that, while it had been fun for a few months to dissociate and spend all his “free” time tied up and encased in a hot rubberman’s basement, he should now return to the real world, a ‘normal’ life of work, family, friends, and relationships where he was an equal. He should turn off his computer, divest himself of the fetish apparel, and go to sleep like a ‘regular’ person who has to wake up early for work the next day.

The other part of Tim’s dual identity, the inherent rubberpig inhabiting his mind and connecting his psyche directly to his surging cock, wanted to lead him further into Ross, past the point of no return, where Ross’s desire for 100% control would be fully realized.
Tim considered what that would mean tonight: Staying awake all night, sealing himself under layer after layer of rubber, and documenting the process with photos – all while Ross slept comfortably. Tim thought, “I’d have to be crazy with horniness to go along with that.”

An image flashed into Tim’s mind: Tim pictured himself as had been months ago, before Ross – he was Brad’s partner, surrounded by friends and family who doted on them, building his career and their network of friends and interests, enjoying the essence of open gay life. As that image faded, a second one came into focus: Tim pictured himself as he had been last week, a rubber prisoner in a basement – he was Ross’s pig, the gagged, plugged, jock-spiked, latex-sealed rubber mummy in the video, sleepsacked and hogtied, boxed and abandoned, left to squirm in the dark discomfort of rubber isolation and immobility, a human rubberworm.

Tim realized the contrast of the two images symbolized his impending choice, and his indecision. He squeezed his latex-gloved right hand over his rubber-encased crotch. He pressed down hard, squashing his enlarging cock with his palm. Trapped at an awkward angle and compressed uncomfortably inside the tight latex of the rubber catsuit, Tim’s cock stiffened further, in apparent enjoyment of Tim’s torment. The root of his being, the cause of all his rubber troubles and source of all his rubber passion, it pulsed against Tim’s palm with each heart beat, reminding him that seconds were passing, and time was running out...